Athenian Prophecy
by Cy.ra.no.Lee
Summary: A man flees his home in Athens. A wary Athena takes notice, and sets the trials for this man. And so, she seeped into the nightmares of he, of his lover past and present. A story of ancient passions and the fires of magic.
1. Forest of Redemption

I was very, very unhappy with this story right now. I was so excited to write it that I forgot how to take it.

It's being to be rewritten with the main focuses still in tact.

Warning!

_**Abuse, Tragedy, Gore, Angst, Sexually Explicit Scenes, Volatile Language.**_

* * *

"Hya..! Hya..!"

The hard sound of hooves against freshly soaked earth made no impact on Drakontas; he continued on. He knew he would have to slow his steed soon, and he had gained a great amount of distance from that place. However, he thought that there could never be enough distance between them. Drako had dreamed of this; running. It had been almost exactly like it was right at that moment. Wind whipped his face and the sun draped through the greatest greenery of leaves. The air was fresh and smelled of the groves that he had known in home.

Reality took things from him to balance it out, though they were things he would hate sacrificing, and would miss with the whole of his heart. There was nothing he could do about it, and he even welcomed it. The feeling of fear that he might be hunted. The feeling of guilt, that he had left his post; his family. The strongest feeling of shame that he had left behind his best friend before he could tell him the truth. The words burned in his mind.

_The truth._

Drakontas grit his teeth and clenched his hands around the horse's reigns harder. As much as he wanted this- this redemption- he hated it. He had always had another riding beside him into the day in his dreams, even though it was dangerous. Very dangerous. Drakontas was surprised he had even made it out of the city without anyone noticing. Athens was huge, guarded, and desperately in need of it's soldiers. And the treachery he had just committed as a soldier was unacceptable. Still, he rode on, his only regret; leaving behind his best friend.

**_~{ap}~_**

"I apologize for making you push yourself," Drakontas said to his steed as it fed off of the apples he gave it, and he rubbed it's nose. Epivitaros's tail flicked out at him lazily and he continued to eat and be lavished.

"We will rest for a time," he said to his horse, though he felt a bit silly. Drakontas had not company to speak of, as was often at his stables in Athens. He would speak to the horses, all the while feeling silly, not that he cared. He was a good enough warrior not to be looked at strangely, even given those circumstances. The only other person he could truly talk to was his best friend, and even that did not sate his need to create a mask that he could live with.

He was Drakontas the silent slaughterer. He was the pale beauty who had been blessed by Artemis. He was a hunter and a killer, and he was the best at what he did. He was a stone statue that only moved when there were no eyes on him. The words '_E tan, e epi tan'_ seemed to be made for him. Or rather, it seemed that he outlived it. Yet not one person, save his friend, knew who he was. He was Drako, the caregiver. He was Drako, the horse lover. He was the kind and silent because of meekness. He was the unconvinced beauty; the thinker with millions of thoughts. Drako was no killer.

It was sad being on his own, but this is what he had wanted. And, in all honesty, his friend had wanted it too. He had encouraged Drakontas to flee, even giving him things he would need on his great journey. Even through his gratitude, Drakontas had been saddened and eager to get the other male to accompany him. He had had no such luck. His friend had eluded him in his flight, and even though he had been eager to follow, he had ultimately staid behind. It had disheartened Drakontas.

The life he had lived then was like a distant memory, and he could not lie and say that he wouldn't miss it.

_Flashback_

Drako like the burn of the sun and cool of sweat on his skin as he fought. It wasn't so much the action that was mouth wateringly tantalizing to him as it was the movement and energy. Ever since he was a _dendriyllion, _he had had much more energy to spare than the rest of the children his age. Drakontas was an Athenian who was not sated by any amount of movement until he collapsed. It was almost as filling and searing and _good _as the burning gaze on his back. The gaze of Pyrrah, his best friend and servant, set him ablaze every day. He brought the other youth with him when he trained everyday. It was not an unnatural thing for people to bring their personal servants with them.

Draco tried not to look suspicious, and left Pyrrah at home sometimes. Whenever he did, his day became sad and mundane, and he thought about returning to the darker man in everything he did. Even now, as he fought with his barracks bosom friend, his mind was on the person behind him. He began to show off a little, bringing his sword up and over his head, blocking his opponent's attack, and making a swift duck and roll. He hopped up and switched the sword in his hand and blocked again. Turning his foot carefully, Drakontas rolled around his opponent and hit him in the back. As the other stumbled, Drakontas kicked him in the back of the shin.

Theodorus went down with a grunt, and Drakontas planted his foot into his back.

"Fuck you," Theo said into the dirt. Though his eyes briefly flashed to Pyrrah, Drako laughed.

"Don't you wish it," he asked as he moved his foot and sheathed his sword. Theo stood up and rubbed behind his knee.

"Most of Athens wishes it. Look at you," he said, grabbing the blonde's hips and looking over at him. Drakontas frowned in his blush, hating being toyed with, and hoping that Pyrrah didn't take this the wrong way.

"Get off of me before I hurt you. Again."

"Who do you think told you that you hurt me," Theodorus asked in indignation, eyes wide. Drakontas smirked at him.

"Your hand," he said, eyes flicking briefly down to his knee. Theodorus sneered at him. As they continued to walk, he wondered how he could ever be this way. This was not the person he was. It was like he switched from being happy to this freakish thing that no one really enjoyed- especially not himself. His thoughts were cut short. Theo squeezed his shoulder and held him still by it.

"Sneip is coming," he said, and Drakontas's awareness came into so sharp a focus that his peripheral vision became as sharp as the rest of it. He stood tense, crossing his arms behind his back and standing strong. Sneip came up, cape billowing like a mighty opponent's would. Drako always found it quite ominous.

"Ochi, take your leave. I wish to speak to Mocthiros," he said, black eyes boring the other boy away. Behind Sneip's back, Draco could see the other boy making faces. He took them in with a stony face.

"You wish to speak with me, _daskalo_," he asked. The dark haired man nodded, and they both began to walk. Drakontas took a look at Pyrrah, who nodded and then turned to return to the blonde's home. Drakontas felt lonely already.

"You have achieved great things in such a short time, Drakontas," the man said, his whole personality softening to the boy beside him. Drakontas smiled politely.

"Any Athenian would do the same if it was in their capacity."

"But it is not in their capacity, and that is what makes you exceptional."

"Thank you, daskalo," Drakontas replied, bowing his head in appreciation and his own shame. He was being congratulated on killing men, and knowing when to kill other men. He would like nothing more than to sink into Tartarus at that moment.

"Drakontas, we are well acquainted. Please do not call my by that honorific any longer. I was born with a given name, you know," he said, amusement passing his featured quickly.

"Yes, I do. I apologize if I have not given respect-"

"You show _too _much respect sometimes, Drako. But, it has been received better than the attitudes of the _choirous _around here," he said sneering as a man who lay asleep in a hammock. He looked as if he had not done work in a great deal of time. Drakontas turned his head away. He didn't like people who weren't energetic, though they didn't have to be like him.

"I see no point in trying to content myself with fools," he replied, and they continued down the road. Everywhere they went, Drakontas was ogled at and many men said good morning to him. He was disgusted, disinterested, and most of all, he was disheartened by it all. He didn't want them to look at him in such a way. He did not wish to be the freak that killed many and worshiped by those of a shallow mind. Drakontas did not feel that he was something special, even if other people did.

"Very true. It is we who do not waste our time idling," Sneip said. The blonde beside him looked up and shook his head.

"No. Those who idle, do not waste time. Those who waste time, do nothing," he replied folding his hands cross his back. The dark haired man beside him looked both appraising and confused. Drakontas knew of this phrase well. He had thought it time and time again in his own mind.

"Wise, Drako. But now we must come to the real reason why I sought you out," Sneip replied, face clearing to become neutral.

"And that is?"

"You are to become _Genikou_ Drakontas Mocthiros of your battalion. There will be a celebration in your honor tomorrow evening," Sneip continued, his pride in the situation leaking clearly into his voice. Regardless, Drakontas lost his breath. He wish he could feel happiness, or pride, or something other than imminent _doom. _He did not want to be Genikou Drakontas Mocthiros. He wanted to be Drako, sur name lost, but personality evident. He wanted to be the useless boy who could only read and write, not fight. He wanted to be the boy who liked horses and didn't talk much. He wanted to be the blonde who was in love with another male.

Drako wanted to be _anything_ but this. He swallowed, and through the pounding of his heart and the thoughts racing in his head, he said, "Thank you, Séverous. I am greatly honored."

"As you rightly should be. Now, I must take my leave."

"I wish you a prosperous day," Drakontas said, not letting the turmoil in his very being leak into his voice of expression. The older man looked him over.

"You should get some rest, Drako. You look tired," he said.

"Yes, I think I shall. Thank you," he replied. The dark haired man nodded, and they parted ways. Panic rose in Drakontas as he practically flew home. He dodged around people without seeing them; heard greetings without knowing where they came from. The blonde didn't want to be celebrated. He certainly didn't want to be ascended because he was a good killer. Drakontas stepped into his home, and he saw Pyrrah standing by the steps that led to his room. Before he could make it to them, his father called him.

"Yes, Father?"

"Where have you been? Why did you not return with your slave," he asked, tone just as commanding as it always was. Drakontas mentally frowned at the floor. He hated when people called Pyrrah his slave. He was not a slave, he was his friend. Furthermore, he didn't like people reminding him that he was something wrong. A murderer who stole people's families and destroyed their homes.

"I was with Séverous. He just told me I was awarded the title of 'Genikou.'"

He was pleased when his father looked up sharply. Without another word he turned away. He knew that the man didn't actually have anything to say to him. His father always liked to stunt him, and stop him unnecessarily to talk. He wouldn't have such a problem if he could leave the man's house and find a place to call his own. There were two problems to that. One being that he was always away on great killing sprees that took all the time he could have had. The most important reason was that he didn't want to live in Athens any longer. He supposed his father could tell sometimes, what with him looking out over their borders longingly, or taking a bit longer than expected on the return trips.

That same need to flee crept into him now. No, it didn't creep. It filled him to the brim and set him over an edge that he couldn't climb up. He was afraid and panicking. Drakontas hurried to his room atop the stairs, closing and latching his door. Millions of thoughts rose up in him, and his chest burned along with his eyes. He clenched at his chest as if he had just been inflicted a mortal wound. Almost spontaneously, a set of dark arms wrapped around him.

"Pyrrah," he choked. He buried his face in fabric and felt his own shoulder's shake.

"You never call me that," the slave said above him, voice dry. Drako knew he always got this way when he was worried. In the blonde's mind, it matched the heartbeat that was always there to soothe him, and a warmth he'd never known he'd craved so much. His body shook as he tried to control the sobs that wished to escape him. He had just been doomed to kill forever more. He had been put in charge of the slaughter of men, woman, and children. True, the Athenians took slaves, but what good would that do? Every way he saw it, they were taking people from their families; he hated it. All the blonde could think about was the fear evident on the faces of children so small they were practically newborn. He was surprised that after all this time, his own slave did not seek to kill him.

"I'm scared," the blonde whispered into the fine garments the dark slave wore. The arms around him closed more tightly still, and his hands grabbed the fabric on the other man. His emotional opinion had tumbled out of his mouth without his consent, and he wasn't even worried that he would be caught actually _feeling _something.

"I know... I've always known that your heart never meant for this," the slave said, hands sliding up to pale cheeks. He pulled Drakontas's face up and their eyes connected. Drakontas wondered at how their eyes would always be different; his being grey and the others being a deep brown.

"Blaise..."

"You must flee from here, Drako."

Drakontas's eyes went wide as he stared at Blaise. His face seemed to grow paler, and his insides began to flutter.

"What..?"

"Leave. You must."

"No, I... Blaise, what you speak of is treasonous," he said with dread, though the feeling pushing to fit into his stomach now was excitement. He was afraid that the dark man would be joking, or worse; setting him up to be killed. When he first met Pyrrah, he had been much nastier. He would make the other man stutter, and laugh at him. He teasingly nicknamed him Blaise- which meant stutter in a language he could not remember the name of. He had thought that the dark boy would seek revenge, but all the time, he didn't. He would work his skillful hands at artisan crafts, and even took to being a blacksmith when Drakontas allowed it.

Drakontas began to fall more and more silent around him, and his scathing remarks had disappeared off of his tongue under the primary premise that he would watch the young artisan. Pyrrah watched him more closely then, and followed him to just about everywhere he went. He came to realize as the blonde looked more faraway and troubled with him that he wasn't truly an Athenian warrior. Of course, he had thought at first that the blonde didn't enjoy his company and that he felt guilty about capturing him. Only half of that was true; he was corrected as he asked.

Pyrrah had had to watch carefully and listen even more so to find the truth in the blonde. And now he knew. Drako was not warrior at all. He loved horses and tending to them. He was philosophical more than anything, have great radical explanations and theories for not only Greece, but the world. More than anything else, Drako loved little children. Whenever some mother would ask Drakontas to take their child and teach them or hold them, his inside would spark in passion. Pyrrah saw it in the way his eyes grew to a silvery blue.

Knowing what the blonde was like, he also knew that the honor that had just been bestowed upon him wasn't an honor at all. He felt sick for his friend. If the blonde didn't leave now, he would fall into a darkness that he would never overcome. Pyrrah had seen it once before, when the blonde had come from another trip. His eyes were so dark that they looked black, and he spoke of his own death as if it were nothing. That had been the first time Pyrrah had held Drakontas. It was awkward and shameful, but after a few more and some soothing words, Drakontas had finally said what was plaguing him. It didn't help, or it didn't seem to at first. They had finally become encompassed by each other a few days after the blonde had fallen asleep in Pyrrah's arms. The dark boy was astonished to see that a great warrior had let his guard down enough for that.

He was glad to see that the blonde actually had a heart of some sort, but it ailed him as well. Drako was constantly suffering as he was, and though Pyrrah knew he could never feel how the other felt, he felt _for _him. The blonde had killed, and that could not be overlooked. But no one deserved such a redemption as Drakontas did.

"I know that you do not care about this," Pyrrah said, because he did. Worry, fear, and trepidation crossed Drako's features. Even more so than that, Pyrrah watched as happiness, excitement, and wonder filled him as if he were a child.

"Help me."

That was all it took. In the quickest flurry of movement Drakontas had ever seen, Blaise was up and about, gathering things that seemed as if they had been collected for weeks before hand. Before he knew it, they were ducking down the streets, past the _agora_, ignoring the sounds of people calling him or trying to talk to him. The sight of the barracks were in his eyes, but didn't register. When he caught sight of Epivitaros, the reality of what was happening washed him. His breathing sounded in his ears, and he turned to look at Pyrrah, who was strapping things to his favorite steed.

"Blaise..."

"You were starting to worry me with all of your silence there. I'm glad you've come back, but I think it's a little too late to talk," he said, coming to the blonde and strapping on his sword. It was the first and only sword Pyrrah had ever made for him. It was made of some of the materials that Drakontas had taken from his home. It had served him time and time again, however much he loathed to say it.

"You must come with me," the blonde said, life overflowing from him like manna. Blaise looked over at him and watched as it did. Drako could not suppress the shiver that surged through him as he watched those dark eyes take in his whole body. He held his breath in waiting.

"No," the dark slave said, and even though the life did not leave Drako, something in him turned hurt and looked as though it were bleeding. Pyrrah looked away, but didn't take his hands from the other man.

"You must know that I do not deny you out of hatred. You must know this."

A type of anger came to the blonde's eyes as he hissed, "Then why do you not come with me? If it is not hatred, then what else would hold you in this prison I have dragged you to?"

Pyrrah shook his head and looked sadly at the blonde. He was working himself up now, and the dark slave would have to brace himself against his harsh words.

"Maybe I have overlooked some ailments in your mind, _Blaise. _I knew I had not acquired the brightest slave when I found you."

Without rebuttal, the dark haired man wrapped his arms around the blonde slowly. The body in his arms was already drained of any tension that could have and should have been there. He hugged his friend, knowing that he would not change his mind for such hurtful things. He knew that he would not change his mind for anything.

"Why will you not come with me," he asked. Blaise looked sadly at him, and moved him to his steed. He mounted the horse hesitantly.

"If they decide to hunt you, how will you protect yourself? Who will be here to hold them back, or steer them away?"

"That doesn't matter! We can go as far-"

"A-and you do not t-think they would search every c-corner of the world for you," he asked, outrage making his voice stutter in it's broadness. Drakontas looked ashamed, but he could not speak back. He had nothing more to say, nothing to give back to that. They would search high and low for him. If he was being held by the Spartans, then he would be rescued and rejoiced for being alive. If he was found to be a traitor, he would be put to death. Or, even worse, he would become a sex slave. He knew of more than one man and one woman who wanted him and his backside in their quarters. He looked away from his slave.

"Leave," Pyrrah said, and there was an air of finality to his voice.

"Blaise, I-"

"There is no time! Go!"

Epivitaros reared.

_End_

It was a mistake to leave without getting out what he wanted to say for too long. He was glad that he knew he had someone to protect him from Athens's wrath. Still, it did not diminish the need for him to have Blaise by his side. In fact, the thought of having left him in such a blood thirsty place only augmented it, and made his body shudder with worry. His mind constantly returned to the dark slave, though he should be concentrating on where he was going and what he was doing.

For now, he left Epivitaros to his slow trot as they searched for water. He was in no such rush now that he had no need to be. It was one such little moment like this one that he had hoped to rise from bitterness into. He was free. He was alone and searching for life in a way he never thought he would be able to. He would not be forced to slaughter children, while watching the children of his home live joyful, unaltered lives.

"Woah," Drakontas called to slow his horse as they came upon a stream. It seemed to widen into a river the farther along it went. He was glad. He wasn't going to stay here for too long, but he could stop here for a few days and refresh himself. There were bound to be wild animals which he could catch, kill, and consume farther up the river. Drakontas nodded to himself and pulled his shoes off. He unloaded things from Epivitaros's back, sure he was tired and thirsty, just as the blonde was. He pulled out a rag from one of the bags, and an oil that was a very strange green color.

Drakontas didn't think twice about using it. Whatever he got from Blaise was something he would trust wholeheartedly. Setting the instruments down, he pulled his garments off and his tunic over his head. Standing as he had when he was newborn, Drakontas began to collect water. With his water sack completely filled, he began to slowly wash himself with it and the green oil. He felt as if he was washing himself of Athens.

It made him glad. He damned Athena in his mind over and over again. She was a monster, just like the other gods of Olympus. Her hideousness was only rivaled by Aries's himself. He shook himself from evil thoughts. He should be more focused on his current situation. It would not be good if-

There was a rustle in the bushes.

**_~{ap}~_**

Georgios and Friederikos were known as the most mischievous boys- now men- of the entire village. They were very proud of their reputation and had worked very hard at it. They were especially proud that their shenanigans had saved more than a few lives from time time as well. Of course, when they saw a gorgeous steed drinking from their stream, it immediately rendered a trigger in their brain. How could they use this fine animal to create another joke? However, it also rendered another notion. Someone dangerous had wondered into their territory. The horse's saddle was gorgeously made. Saddles that fine could _only _be made in a major city state like Thebes or Athens. And unfortunately, Athens wasn't too far away from their home if one rode on a fine, healthy steed like the one they were seeing right at that moment.

Knowing that they were currently in a dangerous situation, the boys quickly and quietly inched forward. Georgios searched the bags hopefully. When he victoriously emerged with an apple, he held it out to the horse. The steed's eyes gleamed happily at the man, who smiled and began a low, soothing chant to it. Friederikos was currently doing a more thorough search on the bags. He shook his head. The Athenian wasn't that smart if he left his belongings _and_ his weapons alone with his only method of transportation.

"I'm going to find him," Georgios whispered quietly into the ear of his brother, who only nodded in turn. Grabbing the reins of the horse Freidrikos stepped through the bushes. Through them, he caught sight of blonde hair, and stood shocked for a moment. He had _never _seen a man with color to him like that before. The men from this place were all short and tan. They had dark hair and eyes, and a very bulky build to them. The man before him was tall and lean. His color dynamics seemed very off, because he had a head of pale blonde locks and skin so light it could have been translucent. Freiderikos bet the sun was unkind to him when he had no means of protection.

Beside him, the horse grew impatient and beneath it's hooves a branch snapped. The blonde beauty froze. As if he hadn't noticed, he capped the water sack which he had been emptying the contents of onto himself. Then, without pretense he crouched. Friederikos watched him as he stay there stock still. Then his body began to move like a giant spider, crawling rapidly over to the nearest, thickest tree. If he got up there, Fried knew he would have lost the upper hand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he called, stepping out of the bushes. The blonde didn't freeze, but slowly aligned his back. He snorted, then turned his head over his shoulder, locking eyes with the red head for a few seconds. Fried was shocked at his eyes. True, there were some dark haired people who had eyes like his, but it was rare. But this man was really a sight. He was the embodiment of everything light, and Friederikos would not be surprised if the sun god Apollo favored him. Or Artemis. He did have a pale beauty to him. He was shaken by a snort, and watched at the blonde stood to his full height.

"Come to kill me," the blonde asked. This time Fried snorted.

"I might ask you the same, Athenian. Why have you strayed so close to our home," he asked. The blonde turned around very suddenly, confusion licking his eyes before disappearing altogether. Then his eyes widened as he saw his steed in the other man's hands.

"I have no knowledge of your home," his voice breathless as he stared at the steed. Fried looked between them before gently tugging the reins on the horse. The gray eyes man made a strangled noise before kneeling.

"Do not hurt him. He has not wronged you," the blonde said in a breathless voice. Fried watched him and an evil smirk crossed his face.

"Get up and follow me."

* * *

_E tan e epi tas- _We fight together, we die together.

_dendriyllion_- **(den. dree. lee. own.**) greek vernacular for 'young ones.' Actually means saplings.

_daskalo- _**(das. kah. low)** master or teacher

_choirous-_ **(chee. rows.)** pigs

_Genikou- _**(Yen. knee. koe)** formal title of general


	2. Prosecution to Near Death

Almost a year... complete disgust at myself.

Warning!

**__****Chapter Warning: ****_Gore, Kidnapping, mentions of Child Slaughter_**

* * *

"What should we do with him," Fried asked. Georgios frowned and tutted at him.

"I'm ashamed of you, Fried. Brilliance should be your strong suite when thinking ahead," the ginger haired male said, shaking his head. His twin crossed his arms and sighed.

"Your mind has forsaken you as well, huh?"

Georgios looked at him indignantly. Fried ignored him as he continued to tug the horse along. Thrown over the steed's back was the Athenian, head bowed and limbs tied. Idly the twins wondered why they hadn't just made him walk while they rode on the wonderfully powerful looking thing. They had no time to wonder about anything other than their newest problem, however. What were they to do with him? Should they kill him out there, and leave his body to be eaten by wild animals? They feared that the smell of human blood might scare away prey, since this was generally where they hunted. The thought of releasing him wasn't any better, since the man aside them was a trained killer; they had no doubt that he would repeat such offenses.

"Should we bring him back with us," Georgios asked. Fried pulled the steed's reigns subtly in irritation.

"Of course! _Mitera_ would only be so proud to see that we've brought home a _live _Athenian!"

"Yes, and being all the cleverer of us, you shall bear the gift while crashing around through the forest," the ginger twin replied heatedly, pausing momentarily to listen for any sounds of approaching wilderness. Boars did like to roam, and he would not be trampled because of some blunder his other half had made. Fried stopped as well, listening through his glare. On his steed, Drakontas grew tired with worry and shame. He had been caught by the most unlucky pair. He did not know what they would do to him. Furthermore, he couldn't even begin to guess at what they would agree on. Both were speaking in foreign tongues, though it reminded him of a far northern territory. He was not greatly acquainted with the north, but he knew some of their warriors had been his most fierce adversaries.

It made him regret not speaking his mind to Blaise before he had left him. Maybe, such feeble, soulful words would convince the dark man to accompany him. Maybe it would have kept him from such a devastatingly humiliating situation. The great, evil, kind, loving Drakontas would befall the fate of a mere war casualty because he was not smart enough to watch his own back. Not only that, but he had been caught without clothing. His face darkened. He hoped that these men were not in such a fancy of others of their own gender. He also hoped that they would kill him quickly.

Such a shame he had, thinking like that. All of the gods that Blaise prayed to must be frowning down upon him. He would burn in Tartarus purely for the shame he had brought the swallow skinned male. The color in his face made him feel like it then. Drakontas sighed. Even though he was in this situation, he would rather die by the hands of these men than continue to slaughter people like he had. He couldn't ruin people's lives anymore. Now it was his turn to feel the injustices of life, whether he wanted to or not.

In all his thought, the blonde forgot that there were two gingers leading him around. He tensed when one addressed him, "Athenian! We have decided to bring you to the others. The will decide how to deal with you."

Drakontas breathed out slowly. He would live for a few minutes more, and be thankful for the life he had been given. He breathed in the crisp air around him. Maybe he could make it out of these trials in one piece. Even as his hope mounted, Drako knew he should be crushing it. He had never been good at hoping for something without expecting something.

The trip was bumpy and painful for the blonde, but he grit his teeth and bared it. As he had promised himself- and his self-created Blaise- he would take whatever punishment that was thrown at him. If he was to be beaten or stoned to death, so be it. If he was to be spared and let free, so be it. Drako denied himself hoping for the later as he grit his teeth. When Epivitaros came to a stop, he was roughly shoved from his steed. He landed on his back, but rolled over quickly onto his stomach in defense as he tried to gain his breathing back. To gain his bearings, he took a quick glance around. Nothing seemed to different from the rest of the forest, except that the clearing seemed exceptionally bare.

"Kneel, Athenian," one twin said, while the other tied down his steed and scurried off. Suddenly, there was his beautifully crafted sword in his face, threatening to destroy him. He sighed, shifting as he remembered his dark friend. He never would assume this was how his most prized possession would be used. In hindsight, he supposed that he shouldn't have brought it with him. He could have used other means to catch food, and he shouldn't need to protect himself from enemies; instead falling into whatever fate crossed him.

Drako felt the wind blow across his cold, wet skin as he bowed his head in shame. Even his fine blonde hair was wet, and he shivered. Above him, the ginger twin snorted, and he could hear his smug look. His cheeks colored in disdain and humiliation. He was sure that this would forever be the lowest point in his life. He was glad Blaise was not here to see it. It would have been rather embarrassing to have those dark eyes scouring through his soul. Drako could barely take it standing with his clothes _on._

Rustling from the bushes made him cringe. With the twin arrived an older couple, both with ginger hair. With them was a younger, ginger haired woman, and a boy with dark brown hair. Drakontas's face grew darker. He was being subjected to a council with _children _in it. More than unnerved, he wished to be sown into the ground. The older ginger woman looked down at him, and her eyes grew wide. She approached him, and he tensed up. The closer she stepped, the more the urge grew to shuffle back, until he could no longer deny his instincts.

"Be still," the ginger twin wielding his sword hissed. He looked up, eyes darkening as he froze. Even if he had tried to placate himself with contentedness to his fate, he could not deny his warrior's vehemence. His instinct was to fight anything or anyone that wanted to kill him, or whatever he suspected that did. The blonde leveled the ginger twin with a very dark look and fought to sit still. The woman approached again, though this time as if he was a wounded animal. He fought not to snarl at her like he was one.

Instead he sat still as she threw the scratchy cloth over his shoulders and let pool in his lap. He had never been so grateful for anything. Not even the sword that Blaise had given him could compare to this. He bowed his head to her, eyes brightening in great thanks. She watched him carefully before she shuffled back to the man Drako was assuming was her betrothed.

"Why are you here," the man said, though for all the world, his voice was not as commanding as Drakontas would have thought. He was a heavy man, built for lifting objects like the corpse of a boar by himself. Drakontas would say that Sniep and even his own father had more of a firm voice. He tightened himself smaller and raised his chin.

"I was captured by your sons," he said, blank tone mocking in the obvious. The man glanced between the two ginger twins before looking sharply upon him again.

"What intention have you being so close to our home," he asked. Drakontas searched his face and then rocked back as he snorted. His sword edged closer his throat. He ignored it and the ginger twin wielding it.

"What intention would I have," he countered, "Had I come to destroy your very lives, I would have brought a legion; not only myself and my steed."

"A spy, then?"

"What nonsense would that be? A spy who strips themselves bare," he spat vehemently, rocking forward in challenge against the sword bared at his throat. The ginger twin pressed more firmly, and they shared a 15 second staring match.

"I would come a spy as you see me," he asked, grey eyes blazing with his untold secrets. No, the things that they accused him of were forbidden to him now. He would not do such things if the gods themselves threatened to strike him down.

"You could be venturing to win our good favor-"

"Good favor! You speak silver tongued words! I seek to live or to die, and that is decision is yours to choose, as fate would have it," he growled, voice almost rising out of its normal tone. He saw the mother look him over carefully and then glance between himself and her husband.

"You have a death wish," the ginger twin who he was sure would be his imminent demise asked. Doing the bravest thing he had ever done in his life, Drakontas leaned forward and lifted up his neck.

"Man would never die in free will. But be it that this time be mine to perish, I will not fight."

Before he could feel the sting of the blade piercing his flesh, there was more rustling from the trees. Another ginger came out, along with a dark haired male. _How many are there, _Drako thought, along with the thought of their possible closeness in age to him. The newest ginger's eyes blazed at him without reason, and he sighed. He wished they would make up their minds and _stop multiplying _so that he could be done with this. It had been a mentally and emotionally trying day for him and he hated it. Drakontas guessed he was fated to have terrifying luck for the rest of his short, short life. He sighed once more.

"Who's that," the newest ginger asked, blue eyes blazing harshly into his face. He avoided looking at him, in favor, taking into account all of the people in the clearing with him now. He tried as hard as he could, seeing as his neck was being threatened. The dark haired man was looking very intensely at him with green eyes. He had not seen such a combination of colors, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was quite complimentary if he thought about it. In fact, it was much better than ginger and blue. Drakontas shook his inner musings; it was not the time for such things.

"He is an Athenian," the one at his throat said.

"Freiderikos, ease yourself," the woman said. After a few seconds, the sword at his throat back away several inches. He let his head fall back into its proper place. He dared not look up at the ginger again, lest he put himself into an uncomfortable situation.

"I've never seen an Athenian who looked like that," the dark haired male said, catching everyone's attention. Drako always did curse his extraordinary looks. His father and himself were the only two in the entirety of Athens that had hair and eyes so light. Even his mother had dark blonde hair, and her eyes were a mix of olive and blue, which wasn't _too _uncommon. There had been some northerners who had been mixed into Athens, and though it was a bit strange, it wasn't forbidden. It only meant that Greece grew more diverse and gorgeous as it brought in new ideas.

"I was an Athenian, I assure you," he said bitterly, shaking his head to rid his face of the wet hair. He scowled at them all, not trying to be intimidating, but loathing the whole situation, and maybe even the entirety of his life. He caught sight of the eldest female, who shifted at the word 'was.' There was a chilling silence in the clearing and Drakontas cringed.

_"You_," the newest ginger hissed, though it only planted the need to snort within Drako. He held himself back. He would take his death with ease; it did not mean he would encourage it. Everyone was staring at the red faced, red haired man before him, including Drakontas himself.

"You're the one who attacked our village," the red head shouted, and Drakontas thought him a mere brute. He snorted at the accusation, against his better judgment.

"I've never seen someone with red hair in my _life_," he spat back. He looked up at his hair in mock disgust, anger slightly rising. He would _not _be accused of doing things he had no knowledge of. He and the newest ginger sat there and glared at each other; a sneer twisted the blonde's face.

"You _must _be a Thracian," he said. The sword returned to his throat, but he had no fear that it would kill. Some evil sort of apathy had crept up into him and brought out his ugly side. He had been soft because his steed was in danger. These people would harm it no more than they would harm one of their own.

"And so what if we are," Freiderikos asked, teeth clenched angrily. Drakontas sneered once more, very prepared to die now that he had blown his cover off.

"Uncouth, aren't you? Not prepared to listen to a word other people say?"

"And you are," the newest- though quickly becoming old and well worn on his fare share of what to say- shouted. Raising his head, Drakontas let himself show his anger through his eyes. As he had been taught by his father and by his daskalo.

"I go to battle with purpose. The purpose of a man who _does not wish _to see his very _brothers _die at his feet. What will you have me do, then!? Stand away and watch them all suffer, when I know I can do otherwise to prevent it?"

"So you slaughter innocent children to save your own people," the one at his throat asked. He lost himself in a viscous snarl.

"I would never kill a child! I'd swear by it on my life," he shouted back, outraged at the escalating accusations. He could never hint at a thought of killing a young one. They were full of a life that he was never allowed, and they deserved their own years of unreserved, ignorant happiness. The boy near the red headed woman's leg peeked out from behind her and stared at him with wide eyes. He dared a glance at the boy and nothing more.

"Then you die today! You attacked our village and killed most of our young," the newest, tired out, loudest one said.

"You do not speak of me. I have never ridden to the north east in the entirety of my position as an Athenian soldier. The attack you speak of must have been many years ago if you have migrated and built homes here. I have not walked this earth long enough for that to happen," he said, anger pushing pressure into his voice and making it solid and austere. There was a long silence in the clearing in which the tides seemed to change. The boy behind the woman shifted, and the blonde looked up and caught his eye. Time stopped as he forced his lips shut. He knew that boy. He _knew _that _boy. _The memory was clear in Drakontas's mind. It had been the worst battle he had ever fought in, and the Athenian victory had meant nothing.

_There were bodies everywhere. Bodies of men, who had fought, and who hadn't, strewn across the land. Houses burned with women and their children locked inside. The once prosperous fields would drown in the blood of man and wither away. Along with it would go the songs and stories of the people who had died. It was unnecessary, all of this. Yet, still they battled on. The cries of mercy were only heard by the blonde, who yet still didn't turn to look at them._

_Fight after fight, body after body, he couldn't _stand _it. Young girls and boys would be lost and have their families destroyed. What was this even for? The giant headline was Sparta. _

_Sparta, Sparta, _Sparta.

_Thinking on it now, he knew that the defeat of Sparta wasn't that important. The war was almost over. Things had gone so smoothly, and then not so much, and then Draco had come and people were _dying. _Of course, Athens loved it, but he was never meant to do this. He knew that now..._

_Something moved in his peripheral vision. A boy, a very small boy, was watching his fight with wide, fearful eyes. Had his parents died yet? Had he been the one to kill his father? Grief made him move. Dead was the man he had been fighting. His heart fluttered in fear for the first time as he saw the boy's face. He was lost._

_"Run. Run from here, this is not your home!"_

_The blonde picked up the doll the boy had dropped, stuffed it into his arms roughly, and pushed him into the woods. The boy tripped and fell. Drakontas turned to find another person to kill. And another to save, if he could._

Drakontas could not look away. That had been a very terrible night, and he had freed many other children and their mothers, but he assumed they would be just as lost. He had no thought of where they would go; their home was ashes. Now, seeing that the boy was okay, he gave himself the little hope that the others were fine as well.

"Are you a coward then? Come because of the tension between Athens and Sparta," eldest ginger asked, and he was defeated. War was not something he had on his mind now. He wished to sleep and eat and be lavished in the nightmares of his actions so that he may never make the same mistakes again. He shook his head.

"No. The tension between us has been as thick as a boars' hide since I was born. I have no need to have fear of that," he said.

"Do not expect to live freely in our home," the other ginger twin spoke.

"I was never expecting to. You assaulted me, remember? And I was in no position to fight back."

His face heated up like a fire, and the twins snorted in amusement.

"So he has no reason to be here," the green eyed one said, an air of apathy cutting across his voice. Dislike and apathy mixed was something that Drakontas had not heard from anyone but his father. It was strange to find it so far from his place of origin. It was strange to find in a boy possibly younger than himself.

"They just brought you here, against your will? You didn't even know we were here," the dark haired one asked him, slightly throwing the blonde off. None had really asked for his opinion, though he wouldn't have done so anyway. He weighed his options, though he didn't think he would get very far if he chose any path. If he kept his mouth shut, they would talk about him and come to their own conclusion.

"I mean you no harm. Free me, and I will take Epivitaros, and go. Or leave me in the forest, and I will find my own way to freedom," he said, looking around them all and hoping they believed. But something about them, something about the heat conveyed one of their young's eyes, made him sure that he would not be lucky.

"I know what to do with him," the new, irksome, young red head said, and stepped up. His mother watched him, cautious as the other man grabbed his ropes and hoisted him up.

"We're going to leave him in the forest. If you can survive on your own, then we'll be keeping your things, as luck so has it," he snarled, pulling Drakontas along as he stumbled. There was no objection to his rash behavior, and Drakontas supposed they didn't have brains of their own to argue with someone like him. As he was pulled out of the clearing, Drakontas's eyes landed on the boy's, and some sort of peace washed over the blonde as he looked about to protest.

His eyes passed up to searing forest green, and for a second it was as if his world was under arrest. There was nothing but silence and a flash of regret and anguish. He was hated because of things he did not do, and he hadn't even the chance to know these people. He turned away as he was pulled harshly, prepared to be left to die. He supposed, as of late, that worse things could happen to him.

_**~{ap}~**_

Drako's feet were being cut and bruised by the roots he continued to trip over. The brute leading him refused to slow down. Well, he would suffer, he supposed, because there was nothing else to do. He hadn't been in any right asking the red head anyway. Behind himself, the presence of the raven haired man followed closely. He did not comment on how uncomfortable it made him, because then he would admit to being a warrior and always having eyes in the back of his head.

"Athenian," the shadow cascading him called. He frowned at it.

"My name is not 'Athenian.' It is Drakontas," he replied, grunting as he knocked his knee into a tree trunk and felt branches whip his sides. The man behind him paid him no heed.

"Why did you relinquish yourself to us so easily," he asked instead.

"Because he's a coward," the red head ahead of him snarled.

"You do not know the life I lived to call me a coward, varvaro. I held no choice in the matter of giving up," he shot back. The red head snarled and yanked his bindings.

"Rigas," the green eyes man warned, "You could have easily killed us and been on your way. You chose to be led away with nothing instead."

"I mean you no harm, as I said. And if I could be led away without any harm being done to Epivitaros, then so be it," Drakontas said darkly, maneuvering his feet much better this time. Of course, he could do no better when the forest hit him. The varvaro still leading him had an unconscious vendetta.

"Is that your steed," the raven asked after a short silence. The blonde nodded.

"He is a kind hearted animal. I'm sure that he will take to you if you treat him respectfully," he replied, cursing as a thick set of thorn bushes smacked into his thigh. Anything else the raven wanted to say was cut off by Rigas's short halt. Quickly turning, he grabbed the blonde and roughly shoved him.

His foot was jarred and twisted and he cursed. With heat in his eyes, he looked up at his aggressor. Only then did he realize that he must have fallen a little farther than he realized. This place he was in was dark and smelled damp, and the cold feeling settled into him. There was something else living here. Call it the sixth sense of the warrior, but he knew. The varvaro and his companion's figures cast shadows over him from their place in the light.

"See if you can walk free from there, Athenian!"

Before he could make a cutting rebuttal, the ginger and his companion fled. Drakontas sneered up at them, slowly shifting to take care of his injured foot, all to wary of the thing that lingered in the darkness. There was something wrong about this. The varvaro knew what he had been doing when he pushed Drakontas down here. He had probably even knew that he would twist his ankle as he did so.

Drakontas cursed internally as he heard something shift in the corner of the dark cavern. He did not call to it. Whatever it was, it was more confidant in the darkness. It probably had better hearing than most creatures. The blonde tried to calm his breathing, looking around to see if there was anything to hid behind while he checked the extent of his injury. He froze, the dread of battle seeping into his stomach as he heard a very long, distinctive sound.

It was the sound of leathery skin sliding against itself. It should not have been such a disconcerting sound; should not have unnerved him as it did. But that sound. He knew it. Rather, he knew of it and its legend. A great beast, with a beautiful hide that could make the finest horse's seats, coverings for the feet, and even clothes if one knew the right techniques. No, Drakontas to_ok no pleasure in the tales of man who wished to be rich. He took heed in the message sent from the gods._

This thing had been sent to kill him. Anger made the skin around the warriors eyes tighten.

_Ssss-ss-ss~..._

Drako made no move to stand. His foot was still twisted badly. Even lacking the pain of a fracture or break, he would not enjoy this. He knelt and shifted to all fours. He had learned how to crawl relatively fast if he could not walk, as an extra precaution should his legs give out. He had taught all of the men of his barracks. They were allowed to be prepared to die, but not to give up.

He shivered in disgust and a bit of fear.

_Ssss-ss-sss~..._

It shifted slowly. It was a cold blooded thing, he knew, and it would grow close and eat him could he not roll and move fast enough. He saw shiny scales in the gleam of light coming from the place where he had fallen in. The fight for his life was about to begin.

___**~{Er}~**_

What did they expect of her, under _Hemera_? Did they really think she wouldn't flee while they sleep? Did they think that, because she was a woman, she knew nothing? She knew much more than they. She had fled and stolen from them herbs a crossbow and arrow, and even a sword. The sword was too heavy to run with, but the bow and arrow were not. She hid most of her 'collectives' and had simply held the bow and arrow for protection. She didn't know how to wield it, but she could learn on the run.

She took care to run on areas laden heavily with brush and leaf litter, and listened carefully for the trot of horses. They seemed to be on her side, since she had left them with a bushel of apples, but animals were strange creatures to her. She had never quite grasped the concept of their thought.

Her foot turned sharply on instinct, because men often rode straight forward and never turned to sharply.

She heard a scream, and, against the the sense bestowed upon her by the gods, she headed towards the noise.

___**~{Dr}~**_

"Augh," Drakontas screamed with all of the might inside himself as the _vasilisko_ bit into the flesh of his arm. He latched onto it, so that it would not whip its head away and tear away at him. He did the only thing he could think of in his almost naked form. With will and a sore note to his heard, he jabbed two sharp fingers into its eyes, hooked them, and pulled.

With violent movements, it grew angered as he took its eye with blood and a stone cold heart. Its mouth opened, and pulled his now mangled arm.

"You," someone called, but he dared no turn his head. He could die at any moment.

"Busy," he called back with wavering breaths.

"I can see well," the female called him, both worry and fear in her voice. He grunted and held his bleeding arm and the crushed eye of the snake.

"Can you," he laughed mirthlessly, "Then lend my your eye."

She scowled in disgust as he threw away the crushed ball, and said, "How about a weapon instead?

She hear the neigh of a horse, and looked back hastily. They had not come to this cave yet, but they would soon.

"I'll give you this bow and arrow, but you must promise to come and save me when you free yourself!"

"You mean if," he called back, though he was trained in the art of the arrow as well. He snorted at himself. Anything to kill, wasn't it?

She threw the bow and arrows at him just as the horses broke through the clearing.

* * *

_Hemera- **(He. Mare. ah)**- _one of the great deities, along with Chronos. Said to be the child of Erebos and Nyx, she is the personification of daylight.

_mitera- __**(me. tare. ah)- **_mother or female head of a household. Can be used in either context.

_varvaro- (__**var. var. oh)**_- someone who has no manners, and who does things without human elegance

_Vasilísko- (**vahs. ee. Lees. co)**- _great/giant serpent, can also be used as another word for dragon

And so the action returns.


End file.
